Warchief of the Rascals
by Jakkani
Summary: The Bloodsail Buccaneers finally overrun Booty Bay; the adults panic, and send their youth away on a Zeppelin. Ill prepared, however, the zeppelin crash lands on an uncharted island. The pilot dies, forcing the teens to fend for themselves. CHP 7 IS UP!
1. Chapter 1

(**A/N: ) I had an interesting idea while eating lunch this morning. I sat down and wrote, and didn't stop. This story is my brainchild, please enjoy it. And leave a review, even if you only read one chapter-- criticism is greatly appreciated.**

**-Netherscream**

The Orcish boy woke with a start, coughing and wheezing. He rolled over on all fours and continued coughing up the mixture of seawater and crimson blood out of his lungs. He wheezed harder, his body convulsing, until his lungs were empty of the stuff, and then he lay in the sand, closing his eyes and taking in precious oxygen.

Sand.

His eyes opened again.

He rolled over and sat up, looking around himself for the first time. He was lying on a beach, the waves brushing gently across the mile-long shore; seagulls squawked harmlessly in the blue sky.

The sky itself was a brilliant blue, with clouds looking as if an artist had slashed them on with a paintbrush. And, no more than forty yards away from the young Orc, was a scar; a black and unnatural scar that spread into the jungle further up the shore. Smoke twisted into the sky from somewhere in that jungle.

The Orc stood with great effort, brushing himself off. His thoughts were thick and ruddy, as if his brain was coated in maple syrup; he didn't know where or who he was. The tattered remains of his clothes were a nuisance, and so he tore at them until nothing was left but his undergarments: knee length leggings made of gnarled leather. He ran his fingers over his smooth skin and the ripple of his muscle, checking for any wound or deformity. He was, apparently, unwounded by the crash, with the exception of banging his head. He noticed the sharp and severe pains of a headache; he grit his teeth and pushed his head together with his hands, for he feared that if he didn't it would fall apart. He brushed his hair back, shutting out the pain as well as he could, and began trekking towards the smoke.

He found only three notable things in the gnarled steel that passed for the wreckage of a zeppelin.

One was the body of the goblin pilot; twisted and bent at odd angles, blood staining the cockpit. His bone, cracked and splintered, protruded from parts of his skin. His eyes, behind his cracked visor, were still open in a death snarl, determined to bring the zeppelin up from its nose dive. He was the only adult on the zeppelin, and now he was dead.

The second was an old, chipped war horn. The insignia etched on the side of the horn was so damaged that he couldn't tell if it was Alliance or Horde. He thought to fix it, but realized that it didn't matter here, on this island. It had a thin string wrapped around it, and the Orc used this to hang it loosely from his thin waist.

The third and last he found was an axe. Old, bronze, and chipped, it had no practical military use now. It would break before most other blades, but was still sharper than most natural elements on the island.

He turned the old axe over in his hands, running his fingers along the chipped edge and along the wooden handle. It reminded him of the first axe he had, when he was a child. Stubborn memories began to stir to the surface of his conscience, memories he didn't want to revisit.

A hand rested on his shoulder.

The Orc boy wheeled around, and the axe was out and flashing in his hand in an instant. He grabbed the thing by the throat, before realizing what_ it _was.

It was an undead child. A boy two years younger than him, perhaps, with yellow eyes open wide in fear. He choked, for the large hand was gripping his neck. He unclenched him, realizing that he wasn't a threat, as the undead boy fell on the ground clutching his throat.

The Orc boy spoke first. "You shouldn't have snuck up on me." A pang of regret could be heard in his deep voice. The undead boy kept coughing.

"Ouch…" he squeaked. His voice was high pitched, and feminine. He had a slender frame, much like the Orc, but less muscular. The Orc extended a large hand to help the undead boy up. He hesitated for a moment, and then took it and was pulled to his feet. The undead boy stood there, his feet facing inwards, biting his fingernails. It was nearly impossible to tell that he was undead, with the exception of his yellow eyes and patches of hair; other than that, his skin was smooth and human-like. He didn't smell undead, either.

"Were...were there any other kids? Survivors, I mean?"

The Orc shook his mighty head. "I don't know. I just woke up and searched the wreckage." His eyes, a dark hazel, turned to the wreckage. I don't remember much of anything, but I do remember that if we don't get a fire going before night it's going to be hard to find tinder." The Orc sized up the Undead boy once more, then set off for the line of trees at the top of the shore.

"…Wait!"

The Orc Boy turned.

"What's your name?"

He stopped for a moment, thinking. He couldn't even remember his own name.

He looked down at his palm, flexing his hand slowly, deep in thought.

"…Bear. Call me Bear."

The undead began walking after him. "Okay, Bear. Call me Rembrandt, I guess. My mum used to call me all the time."

They trekked through the jungle together, looking for flint, tinder, and a place to sleep. The thick unforgiving brush of the jungle reminded him of the trip to Stranglethorn he'd taken as a child; the tree branches snatched at them as they passed, tearing at what little clothes they wore. The canopy was so thick that he almost couldn't see the sun, and the twisted brush intertwined to form a matted wall of leaf.

The jungle floor was likewise matted, a thick cushioned carpet that they walked on with bare feet. Bear led, his axe a blur cutting through the impassable brush, with Rembrandt close behind swatting flies and complaining that he hadn't washed his hair in days. They continued in this fashion for hours, until the sun set in the West. Although they could no longer see the ocean, the sky was bathed bright orange.

They cut their way into a clearing, and it was quite the sight for sore eyes.

It was a massive plateau, flat and mostly untouched by the surrounding jungle. A river ran through the middle and ended in a waterfall off the side of the plateau, a thirty foot drop to the rushing waters below. There were a couple of trees dotting the plateau, but nothing compared to the jungle itself.

But that wasn't what drew their eyes.

There was a human, a human boy, squatted on a rock jutting from the earth in the middle of this plateau. He had an absurdly large, dented, iron helmet on his head that dangled whenever he looked in a different direction. He was scrawny, and younger than both of them, but Bear knew from the way his chest heaved that he'd scream loudly as soon as he saw them. He was a sentry, watching for something. He was paranoid, as well, as his head twitched around looking for possible danger. He hadn't seen Bear and Rembrandt yet.

Bear pushed Rembrandt back from where they hid in the brush, whispering "Let me talk to him."

Rembrandt nodded, but at the same time Bear didn't know what _to_ do. They could easily kill the boy together, but he hadn't done anything wrong to them; Bear didn't believe in Horde racism, and wouldn't kill the boy unless it was necessary. He fingered the hilt of his axe as he frowned, deep in thought.

Suddenly, a plan filled his head.

Bear whispered in a hushed voice. "I got this."

His hands grasped around in the dirt, until he found what he was looking for. He stood and hurled the pebble at the unsuspecting boy with all of his strength.

It whistled through the air and landed at his feet, completely missing.

The human looked down at the pebble, and up at the two wide eyed figures squatting in the brush. His blue eyes opened in sudden fear, his helmet dangling on his head. His chest heaved, and then he let loose a shrill scream that echoed throughout the forest. He kept wailing, his voice getting higher and higher pitched.

Bear got to his feet, rushing at the boy. His foot snared on a root protruding from the ground, causing him to land on his face as the boy continued screaming. He scrambled to his feet, fighting through the mind shattering pitch of the scream.

Bear covered the terrified human's mouth completely with one hand, catching his breath as the boy struggled to get free.

"Shh!", hissed Bear. The human kept squirming underneath his grip regardless, his eyes rolling back into his head from sheer terror. Bear unhooked the chipped war horn from his belt, all the while holding the human, and tapped him on the head with it. He went limp instantly, sagging into a heap on the ground.

Rembrandt ducked under a branch, coming to stand next to Bear. They both looked down on the unconscious form of the human boy. He had a short blonde shock of hair, and pale white skin. Thin and fragile, the only thing threatening about him were his hands, which were abnormally large for his age. His gigantic iron helmet, dented and unbuckled, was slumped down on his face.

Bear broke the silence. "His scream is bound to attract _someone._ And we don't know if they will be friendly or not, or if they're armed."

Rembrandt sat on the smooth, low grass of the plateau, biting his fingernails, as Bear laid the human boy down flat on his back. "And, we're going to need rope for him. He'll wake up soon." He stood to his full height, crossing his arms. The wind picked up, causing his thick black locks to sway in the wind. He looked up at the sky, filling his lungs with the air of the jungle. It was pure, and untainted. The sky was clouded over, and thick with rain clouds.

He looked down at the human, and then to a trembling Rembrandt. "What's wrong?"

"Things are going to come. If a human is here, there may be other Alliance…And, other things on the island are bound to have heard the scream…" He rocked back and forth, his knees drawn up to his chest, as he imagined ogres and wargs storming the plateau.

"We will make peace with them. Or war. We need to work together if we're going to survive, but I'll be honest with you. I've never dealt with Alliance. " His hand rested on the hilt of the rusty axe hanging from his belt. "I can fight, but I'd rather not."

Rembrandt looked up at him. His posture was evenly balanced, like that of a warrior. He was taller than he, and far more muscular, but his hazel eyes were fair and calm. He was a natural leader.

Some of his fear left him.

Bear unhooked the axe and sat next to Rembrandt, placing it evenly across his own lap. They waited, silently.

And they waited.

The rain began to fall suddenly, lightly at first, and then in thick stinging sheets. Minutes turned into an hour as they sat there, waiting for any signs of movement.

Suddenly, it was there.

A snarling troll pushed his way out of the brush into the clearing. He was lanky and muscular, with red war paint decorating his face. He had tattoos that crossed his arms and chest, and he held a makeshift spear in his right hand. His hair was a deep violet and ran down his back in thick braided waves; his skin was likewise a deep blue, and he wore nothing but a tattered loincloth. His tusks were long and yellowed, and chipped from battle. He nodded at Bear, and scowled at Rembrandt, as he ripped away the remaining stubborn branches between him and the plateau with his bare hands. He seemed to wrestle with the jungle; he finally got through, standing on the edge of the stone plateau.

Another troll followed him out, this one a lighter purple. He had no war paint, and his expression was calm and docile. His tusks were shorter and pearl white, his hair a short flair of deep blue. He was unarmed, and wore knee length trunks.

More rustling, on the opposite side of the plateau. A human pushed his way through the layer of jungle, with soaking wet red hair and freckles. He was tall and skinny, with blue eyes. A dwarf and another human, this one blonde, came through as well.

The Horde and Alliance boys locked eyes from across the half-mile wide plateau, Bear and Rembrandt in the middle.

Bear pulled his axe from his belt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The boys were on each other in an instant.

A flurry of limbs and steel, the boys slashed and hacked at each other's direction. The human's blade, a dull iron, flashed, slicing the troll's spear in two. The troll growled, undaunted, and threw an uppercut that landed squarely in his sternum. The human boy bent over, dropping his blade with an "Oof--" Then, they stood there, toe to toe, wailing on each other, swinging wildly, each refusing to give any ground.

"STOP!" Bear's voice boomed above the raging thunder, the flashing lightning and the pouring rain. The boys, consumed in their bloodlust and adrenaline, kept swinging wildly, hoping to get a lucky hit. Bear strode forward mightily in-between the flurry of blows, pushing them apart from each other with all of his strength.

The human stumbled back, landing on his butt on the slick stone of the plateau, as did the troll. The human stood, brushing himself off and parting his hair with a smug look.

The troll, however, was on his feet in an instant, rushing towards the human. His pupils were clouded over with blood lust in his frenzy, and blood dribbled down his chin and temple. Bear had to fight to hold him in place as the troll tried to push him aside to get to the human. He screamed words in his foreign tongue of Zindali, bloody spittle flying forth.

Bear couldn't hold him for much longer. The troll wanted to kill the boy more than anything else, his eyes flashing with rage as he flailed wildly, trying to get around Bear. While Bear's strength waned, the Troll only seemed to grow stronger as the bloodlust pumped through his veins. Finally, he broke free from Bear and ran around him, sprinting at the human, his spittle trailing in the wind.

" Jakkani, stop."

The troll stopped, dead in his tracks. His ears twitched, looking for the source of the sound.

Rembrandt spoke again. "Jakkani. Stop."

His head swiveled towards Rembrandt, frowning at him. Then, sudden recognition crossed his face. He turned, instead walking towards Rembrandt in his crouched over posture. Bear picked up his axe, not realizing he dropped it, and dived between the troll and Rembrandt, holding the axe defensively in front of him. The troll stopped, toe to toe with Bear, and stood to his full height. He was two inches taller than Bear, at most, when he wasn't hunched over. Rembrandt shrunk into himself, obviously terrified.

Bear yelled to be heard over the howling wind,"It's over, troll. Let it go." His voice was firm with command.

The troll stared into Bear's eyes. The fog of bloodlust in his eyes dissipated as he spoke.

"Da' undead boy. Me seen 'im before." He spoke in Orcish, with a thick Trollish accent.

Bear turned to Rembrandt, who nodded. He stepped away, hooking his axe at his belt.

The Troll stared at Rembrandt. "Tyrion?"

"Yes… Hello, Jakkani. It's good to see you again." They both burst into laughter, hugging each other, and began chattering about what had happened since they "Last parted ways".

Bear quickly lost intrest, instead motioning to the other boys. The other troll came slowly, and sat on the smooth stone of the plateau. He laid back, calmly, and fell asleep, even with the rain still falling on his face.

The human boy looked back at the other human and the dwarf, and waved them over with an air of command.

He had to yell to be heard over the wind."Come on, guys! Get your asses over here!" They stumbled, as if suddenly realizing where they were, and ran to him. Then, all three of them splashed through the puddles to Bear.

The human looked Bear in the eye, cautious but not afraid. He held out a hand.

Bear took it, and shook it, his hazel eyes regarding the human with respect.

The human spoke first. "Do you speak Common?"

"Yes. I was taught it when I was younger. What are your names?"

The human stood for a moment, and crossed his arms, deep in thought.

"Call me Elliot. The dwarf, Rammus. The other human, the blonde one, we call him Firen. That boy—" He pointed at the smallest boy, with the absurdly small helmet, still unconscious, forgotten in the middle of the plateau.

"His name's Helmet. What about you and your…savages?"

Bear ignored that comment. "Call me Bear. The undead, Rembrandt, and I guess we can call the troll Ajax."

Elliot nodded. "What about the sleeping one?"

The unnamed troll had forgotten them, and was fast asleep.

* * *

"'Hey!"

"'Hey!!"

A nudge from a bare foot woke him. The troll stirred awake, opening his eyes slowly.

It wasn't raining anymore. The sun set in the east, painting the sky a crimson orange; the clouds were likewise beautiful, much like they were when he first arrived. The troll enjoyed natural beauty more than anything else, and at moments like this he felt at peace in his soul.

"'HEY!!"

Ajax lifted his foot, stomping the sleeping troll mercilessly over and over again. The troll cringed, covering parts of his body, as Ajax continued to stomp. Finally, he stopped.

The troll was on his feet in an instant. "WHAT DA HELL DO YOU WANT?!?!"

Ajax pointed at him and laughed. "Yer funny when yer mad, mon."

The troll tackled him to the ground, trying to rip his head off. Ajax giggled as he wrestled, taking it as a challenge. Like brothers they fought, trying to subdue and not to harm.

The unnamed troll quickly got the dominant position, twisting Ajax's arm up behind his back. Ajax tapped out, furiously, his shoulder in pain.

"You."

They both stopped, looking up at Rembrandt. He had been standing there for quite some time, watching them fight. He ran his fingers through his short tufts of hair, biting his lip as he spoke.

"The sleepy troll. We still don't have a name for you."

Ajax squirmed, his arm still twisted behind his back. He seemed to be holding Ajax with little to no effort. "Uhm…"

He pointed down at Ajax, who was now trying to buck the troll of his back and only ended up getting his arm more twisted. "Wha' his name be?"

"His real name's Jakkani. But we call him Ajax." Ajax began flailing around in frustration, unable to get out of the arm lock.

"Okay, den, call me Lax." Rembrandt nodded, making a mental note of it, and strolled away, leaving the Ajax and Lax to fight. He walked for two minutes over to the other side of the plateau, where the rest of the boys were. As he walked, he looked down at his palm.

While he was undead, it was to a relatively minor level. His skin was human-like in most places, flushed and pink, with a rare spot of gray here and there. His hair, which was rich and blonde in his past life, were now soft and white tufts. He didn't remember much of being "alive", but he _did_ remember being imprisoned for years. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, making his eyes larger than normal. They _were_ a blue-green, but the undead taint had spread into them, making them a lush blue green and yellow mixture.

He stepped through the light brush, spying the camp. Firen, Elliot, Bear, and two new boys, a Tauren and a Blood Elf, sat in a circle, speaking quietly amongst themselves. Helmet, and an undead, younger than Rembrandt, played together in the small river crossing the plateau. Two gnomes talked to each other next to Rammus.

Rammus kicked water on the kids playing in the wayer and knocked over whatever they built, intentionally tormenting them .He scooped up a handful of dirt and slung it in Helmet's eyes; Helmet burst into tears, wailing and screaming in pain. The younger undead boy looked up for a moment, and went back to playing in the water.

Rembrandt hurried over to where the littler kids were playing. "Rammus, stop it. You wouldn't like it if someone did that to you!"

He sneered, saying "Yeah, but someones _not_ doing it to me." Helmet stopped crying, as his tears had flushed the dirt out of his eyes, and resumed playing in the river. Rammus sat there, quietly, waiting for Rembrandt to leave so he could torment the kids again.

Rembrandt sighed, and walked over to the older kids. He sat between Bear and Firen, listening intently; they were in the middle of something.

"---We're going to need order on this island, if we're to survive."

Everyone nodded in unison.

Bear continued. "We're going to need to split into three separate but equal groups. The builders, the hunters, and the fire-keepers. Obviously, the builders will make shelter and gather materials. Rembrandt, me, the sleepy troll--"

"Lax.", Rembrandt interrupted.

"Okay. Rembrandt, me, Lax, and Firen will be the primary builders." Everyone nodded, again.

"The hunters are in charge of bringing us food, and scouting."

The Blood Elf spoke. "I want to lead the hunters."

Elliot spoke up as well. "No, I will lead the hunters!"

They stared each other down, intently. Elliot gave in, breaking away from his glare.

Bear saw this and made his decision. He was, apparently, the better leader. He nodded in the direction of the Blood Elf.

"Felix will lead the hunters until further notice." Elliot pouted and crossed his arms, puffing out his bottom lip. Bear nodded at the Tauren. "Cochise, Elliot, Ajax, and Rammus will hunt." Again, they all nodded.

"The little ones," he nodded to the group of kids playing in the water, "They'll watch the fire, along with Tom and Dom, the gnome twins."

Tom and Dom, hearing their names, turned to the circle and walked over, joining the group.

"Does anyone have anything to say? If you disagree with anything said, let it be known." His fair eyes searched over his audience.

Rembrandt raised his hand. "We should make a clock, to keep time."

Bear frowned. Felix, the Blood Elf, chuckled. "Why the _hell_ would we need to keep time on an island?"

Rembrandt shrugged. "I don't know, we can keep time for meetings and other important things."

Bear raised the warhorn. "I have the horn. We don't need to make a time for meetings; I can call them whenever I want."

Rembrandt put his hand down.

"Everyone is dismissed. Be back to the camp before nightfall."

All the boys began standing and walking away. Felix stood, yelling to everyone.

"Hunters! It's time for our first hunt!"

The boys all turned, staring with interest at Felix. Even Bear turned at the sudden outburst.

" I don't know about you, but I'm tired of eating fruit! I want meat!" Most of the crowd nodded. Felix ripped the band out of his hair, causing his hair to no longer be tied in a ponytail. Instead, the golden waves rippled down his back.

"Fetch the trolls! We let blood tonight!" The boys cheered, pumping their fists in the air.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The boys were on each other in an instant.

A flurry of limbs and steel, the boys slashed and hacked at each other's direction. The human's blade, a dull iron, flashed, slicing the troll's spear in two. The troll growled, undaunted, and threw an uppercut that landed squarely in his sternum. The human boy bent over, dropping his blade with an "Oof--" Then, they stood there, toe to toe, wailing on each other, swinging wildly, each refusing to give any ground.

"STOP!" Bear's voice boomed above the raging thunder, the flashing lightning and the pouring rain. The boys, consumed in their bloodlust and adrenaline, kept swinging wildly, hoping to get a lucky hit. Bear strode forward mightily in-between the flurry of blows, pushing them apart from each other with all of his strength.

The human stumbled back, landing on his butt on the slick stone of the plateau, as did the troll. The human stood, brushing himself off and parting his hair with a smug look.

The troll, however, was on his feet in an instant, rushing towards the human. His pupils were clouded over with blood lust in his frenzy, and blood dribbled down his chin and temple. Bear had to fight to hold him in place as the troll tried to push him aside to get to the human. He screamed words in his foreign tongue of Zindali, bloody spittle flying forth.

Bear couldn't hold him for much longer. The troll wanted to kill the boy more than anything else, his eyes flashing with rage as he flailed wildly, trying to get around Bear. While Bear's strength waned, the Troll only seemed to grow stronger as the bloodlust pumped through his veins. Finally, he broke free from Bear and ran around him, sprinting at the human, his spittle trailing in the wind.

" Jakkani, stop."

The troll stopped, dead in his tracks. His ears twitched, looking for the source of the sound.

Rembrandt spoke again. "Jakkani. Stop."

His head swiveled towards Rembrandt, frowning at him. Then, sudden recognition crossed his face. He turned, instead walking towards Rembrandt in his crouched over posture. Bear picked up his axe, not realizing he dropped it, and dived between the troll and Rembrandt, holding the axe defensively in front of him. The troll stopped, toe to toe with Bear, and stood to his full height. He was two inches taller than Bear, at most, when he wasn't hunched over. Rembrandt shrunk into himself, obviously terrified.

Bear yelled to be heard over the howling wind,"It's over, troll. Let it go." His voice was firm with command.

The troll stared into Bear's eyes. The fog of bloodlust in his eyes dissipated as he spoke.

"Da' undead boy. Me seen 'im before." He spoke in Orcish, with a thick Trollish accent.

Bear turned to Rembrandt, who nodded. He stepped away, hooking his axe at his belt.

The Troll stared at Rembrandt. "Tyrion?"

"Yes. Hello, Jakkani. It's good to see you again." They both burst into laughter, hugging each other, and began chattering about what had happened since they "Last parted ways".

Bear quickly lost intrest, instead motioning to the other boys. The other troll came slowly, and sat on the smooth stone of the plateau. He laid back, calmly, and fell asleep, even with the rain still falling on his face.

The human boy looked back at the other human and the dwarf, and waved them over with an air of command.

He had to yell to be heard over the wind."Come on, guys! Get your asses over here!" They stumbled, as if suddenly realizing where they were, and ran to him. Then, all three of them splashed through the puddles to Bear.

The human looked Bear in the eye, cautious but not afraid. He held out a hand.

Bear took it, and shook it, his hazel eyes regarding the human with respect.

The human spoke first. "Do you speak Common?"

"Yes. I was taught it when I was younger. What are your names?"

The human stood for a moment, and crossed his arms, deep in thought.

"Call me Elliot. The dwarf, Rammus. The other human, the blonde one, we call him Firen. That boy—" He pointed at the smallest boy, with the absurdly small helmet, still unconscious, forgotten in the middle of the plateau.

"His name's Helmet. What about you and your…savages?"

Bear ignored that comment. "Call me Bear. The undead, Rembrandt, and I guess we can call the troll Ajax."

Elliot nodded. "What about the sleeping one?"

The unnamed troll had forgotten them, and was fast asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**(A/N)**I haven't had much time to write; it may or may not be obvious that I don't have much time to write by the shortness of my chapters. I will, however, try to make them longer. Starting with the next chapter, you can expect at least a thousand words per chapter.

I DO appreciate the reviews, they make my day. Any more you readers could give would be great.

-Jakkani

**Chapter Four**

"'Hey!"

"'Hey!!"

A nudge from a bare foot woke him. The troll stirred awake, opening his eyes slowly.

It wasn't raining anymore. The sun set in the east, painting the sky a crimson orange; the clouds were likewise beautiful, much like they were when he first arrived. The troll enjoyed natural beauty more than anything else, and at moments like this he felt at peace in his soul.

"'HEY!!"

Ajax lifted his foot, stomping the sleeping troll mercilessly over and over again. The troll cringed, covering parts of his body, as Ajax continued to stomp. Finally, he stopped.

The troll was on his feet in an instant. "WHAT DA HELL DO YOU WANT?!?!"

Ajax pointed at him and laughed. "Yer funny when yer mad, mon."

The troll tackled him to the ground, trying to rip his head off. Ajax giggled as he wrestled, taking it as a challenge. Like brothers they fought, trying to subdue and not to harm.

The unnamed troll quickly got the dominant position, twisting Ajax's arm up behind his back. Ajax tapped out, furiously, his shoulder in pain.

"You."

They both stopped, looking up at Rembrandt. He had been standing there for quite some time, watching them fight. He ran his fingers through his short tufts of hair, biting his lip as he spoke.

"The sleepy troll. We still don't have a name for you."

Ajax squirmed, his arm still twisted behind his back. He seemed to be holding Ajax with little to no effort. "Uhm…"

He pointed down at Ajax, who was now trying to buck the troll of his back and only ended up getting his arm more twisted. "Wha' his name be?"

"His real name's Jakkani. But we call him Ajax." Ajax began flailing around in frustration, unable to get out of the arm lock.

"Okay, den, call me Lax." Rembrandt nodded, making a mental note of it, and strolled away, leaving the Ajax and Lax to fight. He walked for two minutes over to the other side of the plateau, where the rest of the boys were. As he walked, he looked down at his palm.

While he was undead, it was to a relatively minor level. His skin was human-like in most places, flushed and pink, with a rare spot of gray here and there. His hair, which was rich and blonde in his past life, were now soft and white tufts. He didn't remember much of being "alive", but he _did_ remember being imprisoned for years. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, making his eyes larger than normal. They _were_ a blue-green, but the undead taint had spread into them, making them a lush blue green and yellow mixture.

He stepped through the light brush, spying the camp. Firen, Elliot, Bear, and two new boys, a Tauren and a Blood Elf, sat in a circle, speaking quietly amongst themselves. Helmet, and an undead, younger than Rembrandt, played together in the small river crossing the plateau. Two gnomes talked to each other next to Rammus.

Rammus kicked water on the kids playing in the wayer and knocked over whatever they built, intentionally tormenting them .He scooped up a handful of dirt and slung it in Helmet's eyes; Helmet burst into tears, wailing and screaming in pain. The younger undead boy looked up for a moment, and went back to playing in the water.

Rembrandt hurried over to where the littler kids were playing. "Rammus, stop it. You wouldn't like it if someone did that to you!"

Rammus sneered, saying "Yeah, but someones _not_ doing it to me." Helmet stopped crying, as his tears had flushed the dirt out of his eyes, and resumed playing in the river. Rammus sat there, quietly, waiting for Rembrandt to leave so he could torment the kids again.

Rembrandt sighed, and walked over to the older kids. He sat between Bear and Firen, listening intently; they were in the middle of something.

"---We're going to need order on this island, if we're to survive."

Everyone nodded in unison.

Bear continued. "We're going to need to split into three separate but equal groups. The builders, the hunters, and the fire-keepers. Obviously, the builders will make shelter and gather materials. Rembrandt, me, the sleepy troll--"

"Lax.", Rembrandt interrupted.

"Okay. Rembrandt, me, Lax, and Firen will be the primary builders." Everyone nodded, again.

"The hunters are in charge of bringing us food, and scouting."

The Blood Elf spoke. "I want to lead the hunters."

Elliot spoke up as well. "No, I will lead the hunters!"

They stared each other down, intently. Elliot gave in, breaking away from his glare.

Bear saw this and made his decision. He was, apparently, the better leader. He nodded in the direction of the Blood Elf.

"Felix will lead the hunters until further notice." Elliot pouted and crossed his arms, puffing out his bottom lip. Bear nodded at the Tauren. "Cochise, Elliot, Ajax, and Rammus will hunt." Again, they all nodded.

"The little ones," he nodded to the group of kids playing in the water, "They'll watch the fire, along with Tom and Dom, the gnome twins."

Tom and Dom, hearing their names, turned to the circle and walked over, joining the group.

"Does anyone have anything to say? If you disagree with anything said, let it be known." His fair eyes searched over his audience.

Rembrandt raised his hand. "We should make a clock, to keep time."

Bear frowned. Felix, the Blood Elf, chuckled. "Why the _hell_ would we need to keep time on an island?"

Rembrandt shrugged. "I don't know, we can keep time for meetings and other important things."

Bear raised the warhorn. "I have the horn. We don't need to make a time for meetings; I can call them whenever I want."

Rembrandt put his hand down.

"Everyone is dismissed. Be back to the camp before nightfall."

All the boys began standing and walking away. Felix stood, yelling to everyone.

"Hunters! It's time for our first hunt!"

The boys all turned, staring with interest at Felix. Even Bear turned at the sudden outburst.

" I don't know about you, but I'm tired of eating fruit! I want meat!" Most of the crowd nodded. Felix ripped the band out of his hair, causing his hair to no longer be tied in a ponytail. Instead, the golden waves rippled down his back.

"Fetch the trolls! We let blood tonight!" The boys cheered, pumping their fists in the air.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Sorry for the slow update time. The lady friend has been going through some troubles, so most of my free time has gone to supporting her. But alas, Spring break has cometh! I'll be able to update at least twice a week, from now on.

As a word of caution, this chapter gets extremely graphic. It is not for the weak of stomach.

And, as always, reviews would be greatly appreciated. Enjoy the show.

-Jakkani

* * *

**Chapter Five: Felix**

Felix's nose was to the ground; he was on all fours, sniffing for any hint of game. The brush he crawled through was green and thick, the branches scratching at him like long, bony fingers as he passed. Still, he persisted; he was sure he'd heard the familiar squeal of a goretusk scampering off in this direction. The boar left a trail wherever it ran, leaving the grass bent in odd directions. It was this trail he followed.

Its blood would be his.

He sat up on his knees, waving the other hunters over. Elliot was the first to emerge from the trees. His face was clouded over in annoyance at not being leader; he flipped his hair with a huff as he crawled after Felix. Then, Ajax; he crept through the woods like a shadow, his spear firmly gripped in one hand, his eyes darting around looking for any movement.

Then came Cochise, his massive tauren form pushing his way through the brush. While he was just a boy, no older than fourteen, he was still larger than the rest of them. He didn't make any effort to be stealthy; he was there as muscle in case of an all out brawl. He was the only one of the boys who didn't speak common. Rammus, likewise, clumsily pushed his way out of the trees. His short, stubby legs and beer belly weren't good for stealth either, so he stayed in the back of the hunting party with Cochise.

Felix sighed. Why Bear anointed them as hunters were beyond him.

_It doesn't matter. We can do without them. I want this kill._

Ajax and Elliot finally came to rest on either side of him. They stared intently at the path as they all moved forward, ever so slowly. Elliot whispered through the darkness. "I thought this island was about having fun, free from the grownups. Why are we hunting?"

"To get meat, stupid. We need food." Felix hissed back.

"But we could just eat fruit. We could survive off of that…"

No one responded.

They crossed a pile of dung. It was fresh, with steam still coming off of it. Elliot pinched his nose. Felix and Ajax glanced at each other, locking eyes, and sharing the same thought.

_The goretusk was here no less than thirty seconds ago._

They crept faster along the trail, his form hunched over, clutching his primitive wooden spear. The splinters dug into his hands as he clutched it. The small, familiar pain of the splinters brought memories to the surface of his conscience, and his mind began to wander, his skilled feet put on auto-pilot.

* * *

Felix, just two years old, looked out of his basket.

He could see his parents standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, holding hands.

His father, a proud noble Blood Elf, whispered to his wife: "You know we can't be found together. They will tear us apart." The skin tight leather he wore, black as night, creaked as he shifted his weight. He held a blade in his left hand, short and curved, crimson blood dripping from it.

His mother, a female troll wearing matching clothes, whispered back. "We can leave here. We can go far away, to a place where we can be alone, together. We could go to Tanaris."

He turned his head away, his voice speaking in a hushed whisper. "No. They've surrounded us, and they'll soon discover our presence. You know we can't leave. Our mission is done; Firallon is dead. The world must never know of the Black Fist Assassins."

They were silent for a while, their tears dripping over the cliff edge. The mother turned to look at Felix one last time, who stared back in horror. She muttered something inaudible, which Felix assumed was "I Love You."

They leapt off the edge of the cliff, hand in hand. They fell, but their souls were flying.

Felix flopped over the side of his makeshift wooden basket, his hands getting pricked with splinters, and crawled to the cliff edge, looking down. Their brains, blood, and bone were scattered across the jutting stone rocks below. The ocean came, like a sigh, and washed away the remains. He screamed at the top of his lungs, his two year old mind realizing what had just occurred. He reached towards the base of the cliff, towards the remains of his mother. Tears formed in his eyes. They fell more and more, and he began coughing, and his nose running, as he squealed.

He was picked up by a mighty hand from behind. "Oho, watch yerself, lad. What're you doing here?"

A man held him, the massive pirate's hat on his head slightly askew. He wore a plain white shirt, stained with use, plain black cloth pants and boots. His breath was heavy with liquor. "What's this? A Blood Elf? Ah, lad, I'll raise you to be the greatest Bloodsail there ever was. I always wanted a babe of my own…"He turned, Felix still in his arms. "I can't have ya dyin' out here; Stranglethorn is, after all, a dangerous place! Especially with these blasted trolls…"

* * *

A rustle in the brush ahead drew him back to reality. Remembering what he was doing, he crept forward, and around the thick trunk of a tree.

The goretusk was on the other side, nibbling grass.

Felix leapt from his hiding spot, hurling his spear at the boar's flank with cold efficiency. It stuck in her side as she squealed and bolted towards the other hunters. Elliot and Ajax both sprang from where they hid, hurling their spears in unison, where they stuck in her back and left leg respectively. Still, it ran, determined to escape. The boys cheered and roared, the small crowd swelling to a frenzy.

Cochise sprang from the bush and gripped it by its great tusks, slinging it through the air with great effort. The pig's squealing became louder as it flew through the air, landing next to Felix. It twitched unnaturally, getting to its feet, as Felix leapt on it. At this point he was in a blind rage; tearing, clawing, biting, ripping, kicking, punching, and smashing the pig. His anger, repressed for all these years, billowed like a roaring flame.

Hands pulled at him, muttering words he didn't understand.

He pushed away the hands, wanting to get just one more hit at the pig. Still, they clung at him. He pushed wildly at the annoying hands, forcing them away from himself. Still, they made an effort to grab him. He hit them, too, in the face or arms, wherever he could reach. He picked up a stone and used it as a weapon, trying to break whatever it was that grabbed at him. He swung the fist-sized stone wildly, hearing a sickening crunch every time he connected. The hands left him alone, finally, and he turned back to finish the pig. Massive hands came and picked him off the ground by the wrists. He kicked and roared, trying to hit something, anything, as he dangled in the air.

Rain suddenly fell on the jungle, dousing his fury. His chest heaved, his breathing slowing, as he looked around.

The boys were crowded around something, with the exception of Cochise, who held him in the air. Cochise dropped Felix, running over to whatever it was the boys crowded around. Felix followed. He pushed his way through the shoulders of the small crowd, eager to see what it was they looked at.

The pig was dead, two spears sticking out of its side. Its mouth was gaping open at the sky, seeming to eagerly drink the heavy rain in, as dark blood poured forth from its wounds.

But that's not what they stared at.

Elliot was face down in the dirt of the forest floor. His head and face were a bloody pulp, and his ribs had sickening dents in them, completely smashed in. He was motionless, lying in a pool of his own blood. The boys, all of them completely shocked, turned and looked at Felix.

Felix let the bloody rock fall from his hand, realizing what he'd done.

The heavy rain sighed.


	6. Chapter 6

**(A/N): ** Yes, I have just started actually adding chapter names to the chapter numbers. Deal with it :D

And Rembrandt _may or may not _die. No character is invincible.

-NetherscreamNordune

**Chapter 6: Calming the Storm**

Rembrandt placed the last rock artfully, then stood back to admire his work. He wiped the sweat from his brow, enjoying the fruit of his labor, looking upon it with the eyes of an architect.

It was a tent, the third he'd made that day; it was six feet taller than him, made of piled stone secured in place with dried clay. He thatched the roof with massive leaves he found matting the forest floor, and used the same leaves to make a carpet inside the tent. Two more leaves hung from the entrance, and were easily pulled apart to be used as a door. It was the largest shelter he'd made that day, and was going to dedicate it to Bear.

Lax, the troll, stood near him, likewise admiring the tent, one hand on his chin. Rembrandt found that he was extremely strong, although he did not look it. All he needed was to be persuaded to actually do anything, and then he was a diligent and capable worker.

Bear emerged from one of the smaller tents, adjacent to the bigger one. The shelters were placed in no particular order or fashion, just in the general vicinity of each other. "I finished the floor—"

He stopped, looking at the shelter they'd just finished. It was almost twice as large as the others.

"You built that in four hours?!"

Rembrandt blushed. "Well…yeah. Me and Lax, of course. It's yours." Lax nodded.

Bear grunted in satisfaction, crossing his arms and smiling around his tusks. Then, he flinched.

"Where's Firen?"

Right on queue, Firen burst out of the line of trees, lost his footing, and landed on his face. His blonde hair was tousled, and he wore a tattered skirt fashioned from leaves. He had pink and purple makeup smeared across his face, and wore tattered sandals. He looked as if he'd just fought for his life against someone who forced him to crossdress; his face was red, and his chest heaved.

They all stood there, Firen staring at them and the boys staring back; the only thing breaking the silence being Firen's ragged breath.

"Firen, what the $#5."

"Uh…"

Bear looked over at Rembrandt, who shrugged, and over at Lax, who's jaw was hanging open.

"What…why…?"

Firen got to his feet, brushing himself off, his skirt bristling. "Well, I left camp this morning. And…What?" Firen stopped talking, as if interrupted.

Bear asked,"What? No one said anything…"

Firen suddenly stared with great interest at Bear, as if the Orc were turning into a dragon.

The hunters arrived at that moment, from the other side of the camp. They shuffled onto the plateau they called "home" silently, their faces downcast. They quickly scattered, some retreating to their new homes, some sitting around the fire with TomnDom. Cochise was the last to emerge from the line of trees, carrying a boy on his left shoulder and boar on his right.

He dropped the boar near the fire with apparent disgust, his lips pulling back into a snarl when his eyes crossed Felix's. Felix snarled back, his grip tightening on his spear. Bear noted that he had Elliot's fencing sword on his hip, and uneasiness starting forming in the pit of his stomach. Felix and Cochise stared at each other, and then Cochise turned away, stomping towards the biggest shelter. Rembrandt, forgetting Firen, pulled aside the massive leaves that served as a door, and Cochise ducked under the low door frame. Bear hurried in after, followed by Rembrandt, who closed the leaves behind him and fastened them closed.

He sat the boy down softly on the cushioned floor.

Bear could only know see the extent of his injuries. His mouth lulled open unnaturally, and his eyes were rolled in the back of his head. Parts of his skull and chest were smashed in, the dents the shape of a small rock. Blood poured from his mouth, and his fingers and feet were flexed eerily.

Bear reached over, closing his eyelids with one swipe of his hand. He laid him out flatly, so that his arms and legs were to his sides.

Rembrandt stroked his broken cheek, looking into the corpse's eyes with sadness. A single tear formed in his eye and fell, landing on Elliot's broken face.

Bear stood, and rushed out of the tent. At this time, Felix and Rammus had already carved and cooked the meat of the boar. He was handing out steaming slabs of meat to everyone, even the little children who were now referred to as "little ones". Bear's anger flared as he crossed the camp, his fists clenching.

"What are you doing?!? That's the signal fire!!" His voice was hoarse.

Felix looked at his dully. "Cooking on it."

"There's no smoke because you're cooking on it!"

Felix responded with disinterest. "So?"

"You think one meal is worth not being rescued?! What if some boat is passing nearby?! They wouldn't know we're here because you HAVE to eat meat instead of fruit! You and your hunters care more about your stupid hunts than helping us get off this rock!" Felix leapt to his feet, suddenly furious, yelling in Bear's face.

"MY HUNTERS DID WHAT WE WERE SUPPOSED TO!!"

"YOU KILLED ELLIOT!!"

Felix flinched. "No, I didn't! The boar killed him!"

Cochise spoke, for the first time since they'd known him. "No. You. Rock. Smash the human."

Bear turned back towards Felix, his great black hair seeming to flow with power; he seemed taller than he actually was.

"Do NOT let it happen again. Or I WILL kill you, personally."

Felix's handsome face sneered, flipping his crimson hair. "You can try it, Orc."

Bear's fingers brushed the hilt of his axe. He wanted nothing more than to cleave this elf in two, but his judgment was clouded by anger. And, so, he let his hand fall.

"I won't let you provoke me, Elf. Just know that I mean what I've said today." Felix spit at him as he walked away, and sneered. Rammus and Ajax sneered as well, in-between bites of the greasy meat. All the other boys turned away, silently eating their meals or talking in hushed whispers.

Rembrandt walked with Bear, biting his fingernails. His voice was a small, scared whisper.

"There's going to be trouble with those three."

Bear nodded.


	7. Chapter 7

**(A/N): **I really enjoy the reviews; they make my day more than you think. Keep them up.

And no, it isn't a crossover with Lord of The Flies, although I suppose it shares a decently similar storyline the first two or three chapters. As the story progresses, you'll realize that Lord of The Flies is VERY different from my fan fiction.

Also, to clear up any confusion, some of you may notice that I use two different pen names. NetherscreamNordune and Jakkani are both, in fact, me.

Enjoy the show.

-NetherscreamNordune

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Nostalgia**

The boys, with the exception of Felix and Ajax, quietly mourned the death of Elliot in different ways.

Rembrandt and Bear did whatever they could to keep their hands busy and their minds occupied with work; Cochise left the camp to be alone for a while; Rammus, likewise, was nowhere to be seen. TomnDom fanned the signal fire back to its original state, and kept it burning brightly. Helmet, bored and lonely, sat near TomnDom and kept them company. The little ones, undaunted, played tag, skipping around the camp and laughing as only careless children can.

Lax dealt with the loss by sleeping himself silly. But, of course, he did that anyways.

And, Rembrandt noticed, Firen was missing. Again. And so it was no surprise that Rembrandt, while collecting flint and tender for a new fire specifically designed just for cooking, stumbled upon him in a small clearing in the jungle twenty feet from the plateau.

"Hey, Rembrandt,"

Rembrandt looked at the kid squatting in the grass, with dull interest. Even with mud and dirt smeared across his filthy face, he still looked somewhat dashing.

"Tim," He gestured indignantly at a nearby coconut, "has said something quite uncouth about my mother." He pouted and crossed his arms, blowing the fair hair from in front of his eyes with a huff. Whenever he blew the hair from his eyes like that, he reminded Rembrandt of how he looked, when he was still alive, before the scourge plague claimed his heart.

Rembrandt pinched the space between his eyes, sighing. "Okay, Firen. And what would you do?"

"Well," he looked back at the coconut with murderous intent in his blue-green eyes. "Honor demands that I defend her good name."

Rembrandt turned without another word, walking away from Firen. Firen didn't seem to notice Rembrandt leaving. He never did.

But, still, the shocking resemblance stirred memories to the surface as he searched for any sign of the elusive flint. His body walked and picked up flint and tender, but his mind was far gone.

* * *

"Of course I love you," her voice was like a flute, "If _you'll be my star, I'll be your sky. I live to let you shine…_" She reached down and tousled his blonde hair. "_You can shoot away from me, and never come back to me. To a place far away, with more room to fly. Just…leave me your stardust to remember you by._" She swept her hand dramatically over the crowd, her green eyes distant. "_Just leave me your stardust to remember you by_."

His father, on queue, began playing the lute as he walked on-stage, an uplifting tune that only he could correctly play in their troupe. He arms were strong but his face was charming and always on the edge of laughter, his brown eyes deep and his voice rich as he sang. His voice was married with the tune he played perfectly.

"_Yes, Arthas, my son, you are bound for great thi-ngs." _He wore royal blue robes resembling that of King Terenas. He leaned over, while strumming, and kissed his mother deeply. She closed her eyes while he did so, smiling around his kiss.

This was the way Rembrandt would always remember his parents. Kissing, both of their eyes closed, submerged in passion, on stage. They seemed so perfect together, so perfectly in-sync, that they could've been one being. He wished nothing more than to find someone like that.

His father broke the kiss, turning to Rembrandt.

"Well, then, let's have it." His voice was no longer singing, but was loud and clear spoken so that the crowd could hear him easily. He held out a hand towards Rembrandt.

Rembrandt pushed his hair, which flowed down his back in white-gold waves, away from his face, and reached inside his coat pocket. He was, obviously, also in costume. He had a little crown and robe resembling Arthas's; in fact, his costume was perfect except that his hair was twice as long as Arthas's, and Rembrandt had one blue eye and one green eye where Arthas did not. He pulled the paper from his robe, unfolded it, and gave it to his father.

His eyes lids widened considerably as his they wandered over the paper. He clutched his heart as if he were dying and fell to the floor of the stage in an exaggerated motion. Rembrandt and his mother ran over to his side, crouching over him as the crowd watched in awe.

"What's wrong, honey?!"

His father, who played King Terenas, silently handed her the paper, pretending to be choked. She took the sheet of paper up and read it, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

"SEVENTY GOLD?! FOR MATH TUTORING?!?"

The crowd burst into laughter, a thousand mouths laughing and howling; with the exception of the math tutor, who seemed to shrink into himself. The people in the crowd near the tutor nudged with their elbows as they laughed, until he himself began laughing.

His father leapt to his feet with an amazing display of balance and bowed. Rembrandt and his mother also bowed before the crowd, who clapped, cheering for the troupe's hour long performance, throwing roses and coins of gold, copper, and silver on the stage.

It was the happiest moment of Rembrandt's life.

* * *

Rembrandt stepped over a snoring Lax and entered Bear's tent. They had taken to stockpiling most of the goods here, until they could build a separate place for storage. Bear was there, with Cochise, teaching him basic vowels in Common. The Orc would say a letter and Cochise would repeat him, his great tauren mouth trying to emulate Bear's. Rembrandt dropped his load in the pile of flint, and turned to them, suddenly realizing something.

"Bear, how do you know Common anyways?"

Bear looked back at him, turning away from the Tauren. He scratched his chin as he thought.

"Well, obviously, because plothole."

Rembrandt shrugged. "Oh, okay."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: Cease Fire**

It rained.

But not as it had before, with striking lightning and booming thunder, with driving winds and hail.

No, it was different; the rain fell in soft, sighing waves over the sleeping island, softer than ever before. This was life bringing rain that nourished the island; the kind that helps you sleep at night. Most of the boys, expecting to the hurricane force winds of the _usual_ rain, immediately fled indoors to whatever shelter was closest.

Rembrandt had always been a cornucopia of bad luck. He dropped stones on his feet. He broke things he needed. He tripped often. He burnt whatever he cooked. He stepped in mud, and worse things, often. His enemies always found him, and his allies never did.

And, so, Rembrandt wasn't much surprised to find himself in the same tent as Ajax.

He was crouching in a corner, the way trolls always do, motionless, staring at him with crimson-brown eyes. In fact, he was so still that when Rembrandt had first ran in to the tent from the rain, he though Ajax to be a piece of furniture.

Then, of course, he realized that there was no furniture in a tent.

"W…what? Why are you looking at me like that?" asked Rembrandt, wringing his hair out. It was now shoulder length, for they had been there for a month now.

"Nothin. Just sittin' 'ere. Waitin' for da' rain to let up." It took Rembrandt a moment to understand his rough accent.

"Oh, well, okay." Rembrandt sputtered out shakily. He pulled his hair back in a ponytail, like he always did now. Then he sat on the dirt floor on the other side of the tent, trying to close his eyes and fall asleep to the calming pitter-patter of the rain.

But he couldn't. He could still feel the troll watching him.

He opened his eyes to find that he wasn't there. A pang of loneliness pricked him.

How long had he been asleep?

Ajax came back into the tent. He was much taller when he stood to his full height, almost two heads taller than he, and his slim muscle was clearly visible now that he was standing. He held his spear in one hand.

Rembrandt was terrified beyond belief.

"I forgot it out dere," his raspy voice explained," I didn't want it to get ruined by da' rain…" He set the spear against the stone wall of the tent and sat down next to it. "I aint' goin' ta kill ya. Stop lookin at me like dat'."

He calmed himself a little. Just a little.

His throat chortled deeply, which Rembrandt could only interpret as laughter. "You need a hug."

Rembrandt looked down at his hands, opening and closing them. "Yeah, I do," his voice squeaked out. His voice had a little more honesty that he intended. He tried to chuckle and play it off as a joke.

Ajax stared at Rembrandt for a moment, then stood and brushed himself off, crossing the tent.

"W…what're you doing?! Hey! Stop..!"

Rembrandt scrambled back against the stone wall of the tent, terrified of the troll; Ajax bent and simply grabbed him by the ragged collar of his shirt and hefted him to his feet, and wrapped his arms around his hips, hugging him tightly around the midriff.

Rembrandt wanted to shrink into himself and disappear. He couldn't escape the troll's tight hug; he was sandwiched between Ajax's body and the stone wall. Finally, he concluded that if he just returned the hug he'd leave him alone. He reached up, wrapping his arms around Ajax's neck.

He could smell the forest and the rain and the ocean on his skin, which was unnaturally hot to the touch. His hair, deeply violet and curly, smelled of fruits. Rembrandt laid his head on his chest as they hugged, the flat muscle of his chest feeling oddly comfortable. He could hear his heartbeat, slow and powerful, beneath the surface.

It was…a nice hug.

* * *

"Wait, so that's your dad's helmet?"

Helmet nodded, flicking the heavy metal on his head. "Yeah, it's the only thing I have to remind me of home." TomnDom looked at each other in unison, their faces sharing the same expression. They looked back at Helmet.

"We don't remember our dad."

"Yeah, he left before we were born."

Their voices had the exact same pitch and tone.

Helmet nodded. "So what were you doing in Booty Bay?"

"Field trip," they both explained in unison. "We, Firen, Rammus, and Elliot were all part of Stormwind Academy's fencing team. We took a trip here on vacation." They both nodded.

"Oh, okay."

"What about you?"

"I've always lived here. My parents were killed by the Bloodsails, and I've had nowhere to go since then besides orphan's home."

The twins were silent. Helmet stared at the door of the tent as the rain continued to fall.

TomnDom sneezed in unison.

* * *

The cougar sat on a hill, looking down on the camp. His fur bristled with the wind, and the rain ran down his elongated body. He liked being in cat form.

His maw opened and he sighed. After Elliot's accidental murder, he watched the boys teeter on the peak of war for weeks. But, over time, they adjusted to each other, much as two people eventually learn to ignore the other. Felix and Ajax mostly kept to themselves, providing food for the group and nothing more. Cochise, Bear, and Rembrandt built, of course; the small gathering of shelters they began building now becoming a small village.

Lax left the camp and slept, only coming back for dinner.

Firen, likewise, wandered off, and Rammus tormented the children when he wasn't trying to make friends with Rembrandt. TomnDom also kept to themselves, save for Helmet, who was their only real friend.

Ultimately, the boys fought occasionally, but altogether they seemed to get along. His job was, at the moment, easy. The druid shook the water from his mane, but it was fruitless. The rain still fell.

The Guardian was content; because, for a little while at least, the camp was in peace.


End file.
